


The Collector

by Vyranai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Just two nerds nerding out, Modern Thedas, One Shot, Solavellan, Valentine's Day, and so much snow, the tackiest cafe in history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9687521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyranai/pseuds/Vyranai
Summary: Dorian arranges a date for his favorite fatalistic elf on the tackiest day of the year: Valentine’s Day. Said elf is not amused.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just some Solavellan fun and a little fluff in a modern Thedas. Sorry for any mistakes as it's 3am and this was just begging to be written before I fell asleep on the keyboard and drooled. Happy Valentine's Day to all! <3

This was to be an unmitigated disaster, he was quite sure of that. For one thing, he was already on his second cup of coffee, having drank the first one much too quickly and scalding his tongue in the process. The café was small, cramped in a way that made Solas feel claustrophobic. Paper hearts were stuck higgledy-piggledy upon the windows and shockingly pink walls while even more hearts hung across the ceiling like banners of war, projecting their tackiness. Even the tables had not escaped the invasion of pink, cups and saucers emblazoned with a heart shot through with an arrow; Solas turned the cup around so the affront would not face him, a nasty taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the coffee. The coffee was actually quite nice. Black and bitter, just like his love life.

 

Valentine's Day. Obviously a human creation, seeing how obsessed with love and desire they were. And definitely Orlesian. How else could you justify so much paper bannering? And pink. So much pink.

 

The couple beside him, a young human pair in their teens, were holding hands, eyes glazed over and looks lingering. As he watched out of the corner of his eye, the boy seemed to sigh longingly. “Your eyes are so beautiful. It's like the stars have fallen into the pool of your eyes.” The girl laughed coyly and blushed a deep crimson.

 

Solas may vomit if he was forced to endure adolescent drivel for much longer. He checked his watch; she was ten-minutes late. This woman, whoever Dorian had set him up with.

 

“You'll like her,” the man winked just after Solas had finally digested the news that his friend had found him a date for the tackiest day of the year. Murder seemed a little excessive, but he'd be willing to make an exception just for him. “She's weird, just like you. You can both be weird together and found a club for weirdness with you both as presidents. And then, down the line, you will both produce weird children and be in my debt forever.”

 

Dorian refused to divulge anything about the mystery woman other than her name: Ellana. No last name, Solas had noted. Probably some shrewd method to prevent him from searching online for his date. With such a name, he'd come to term with the fact that this Ellana was most likely an elf. When he had confronted Dorian about that fact, frustrated, his friend had merely groaned and launched into a lengthy explanation. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you are getting older, not younger. And not ageing gracefully, I must add. The vagabond look? It adds years. The lack of style? Hair? My, you could be a walking corpse and no one would be any the wiser. And really; do you really, truly desire to live the brooding bachelor lifestyle until you die?”

 

No, he did not. If anything, he feared such a wretched and lonesome existence. It was the unavoidable truth in Dorian's words that finally swayed him to this insane plan that he had hatched without his knowledge.

 

The door of the café opened with a cheerful tinkle, letting in the freezing air outside, a flurry of snow accompanying. Solas turned around very slightly so that he could look in the large oval mirror set upon the wall opposite, perfectly situated for watching the comings and goings of the customers around him. There; a woman wrapped up in a dark green coat and matching woolly hat and scarf stood there, shoulders flecked with snow. She wrenched her scarf down and revealed bright eyes – what color, he couldn't discern at such a distance – that peered around the room almost timidly, hands clasped before her. Solas blinked and their eyes met in the mirror; he raised a hand in some semblance of a greeting and she smiled, winding her way through the chairs and tables in his direction.

 

“Goodness me!” the woman exclaimed upon finding her seat opposite, brushing the dusting of snow from her shoulders. Not so timid after all, then. “I am perished. Just perished. Where did that snowstorm come from? I swear that the weatherman claimed light flurries, not a fuck _ton_ of white.”

 

Crass already? “It came down from the north, or so they claim. The Free Marches have it especially bad according to the charts I saw this morning. Kirkwall is buried under at least three feet.”

 

The woman shuddered at his words, removing her coat to reveal a warm blue long-sleeved sweater below. “Gods above, I hope we are not next in line for that. I mean... I love snow and all, but not when I'm out in it. I have the grace of halla on ice. It's painful to watch.” She took the seat at last and finally _looked_ at him.

 

Ellana was very beautiful, with thick black hair framing her small and rather red face; her cheeks glowed like embers from the cold. Her eyes reminded Solas of dewdrops upon forest leaves with how they were such an intense emerald. The pointed ears sticking out of her slightly disheveled and damp hair confirmed his theories that his date was an elf.

 

At least she bore no _vallaslin._ Dorian had gotten that right at least.

 

Ellana smiled warmly at him, easily meeting his curious gaze. “I'm sorry; I just launched into the weather, didn't I? You _are_ , uh, Solas, right?”

 

“And you must be Ellana.”

 

“That I am. You do know Dorian... don't you? I've not been tossed together with a complete stranger? I mean... you could be an axe-wielding murderer for all I know.” She barked out an inelegant laugh.

 

She was definitely strange, Dorian had been right about that. But there was something strangely endearing about the way she prattled on without pause for thought. He couldn't place his finger upon it. “I do know Dorian Pavus. We have been acquaintances for a number of years.”

 

“Really? Well... same. He's never mentioned you?” Ellana frowned gently, shucking off her gloves. “I run a bookstore downtown. _Lavellan Lit._ So, are you a collector like Dorian?”

 

Dorian had definitely been hiding this one. A bookstore in the city that he'd never been to before? Preposterous. “I collect books of a certain antiquity, yes. Though unlike Dorian's fascination with the ancient histories of Tevinter and the Archon's of old, my tastes run another direction towards the Fade and histories of magical lore and Elvhen theory. And arts, if I can find them.”

 

At those words, Solas watched the woman's eyes positively light up with childish excitement. “Truly?” she pressed, “you collect books about Elvhen history? And magic?”

 

How refreshing it was to have someone look at his job, his hobby, with awe and not raised eyebrows and dismissive words. Solas felt himself relax the smallest of fractions in the woman's company. “The books and texts of the Elvhen are spread far and thin, hardly cheap at that, but yes. Tomes of magic are much easier to procure, but just as expensive. And enthusiasts scarce agree to part with them. It takes weeks of, ah, gentle persuading.”

 

Ellana seemed to blush beneath the windburn. “I have a few books myself. Just a few, given to me by a very generous and rich customer in her will. Lovely lady. _Tales of the_ _Dreamers_ and a number of scrolls and papers that date back to Arlathan, apparently. From the state of them, I believe them to be legit. I have tried to translate the words, but to no avail. No expert, no old Keeper of the Dales could fully translate the scripture. The words are very old indeed.”

 

Scripture... from the time of Arlathan? That was impossible. It was completely improbable. But if she was telling the truth and these mysterious scrolls were the genuine article...

 

“Forgive me, but-”

 

“Yes,” Ellana smiled mischievously, snagging his half empty cup of coffee and taking a generous gulp. “You can come back with me and look at them, if you desire. This place is much too pink for my liking. And the sounds...” she grimaced at the teenage couple next to her, who were kissing across the table now. _Kissing? No,_ Ellana thought in lightly veiled disgust. They were practically eating each other's mouths. It made her feel faintly sick. “I think we'd be much comfortable at my shop, don't you think?”

 

Such a bright and cheerful spirit. Solas found himself smiling at her words. “I quite agree.”

 

“Come on then.” Ellana clambered to her feet with all the grace of a newborn halla on ice and yanked her hat back onto her head, stuffing her hair back inside of it. “Into the swirling Void we go. I hope you have a hat because like hell you're having mine. It's soaked. Your head would turn blue and then you'd get ill and die a very painful and cold death, leaving me feeling terribly guilty.”

 

As he shoved open the heart adorned door and allowed Ellana to walk out first, she flashed him a bright smile from within the woolly confines of her clothes. Solas felt the kindling of something that felt suspiciously like hope spring to life within him. He didn't curse it, but rather welcomed it instead. Maybe, at long last, his weary heart would know some semblance of peace.


End file.
